Master's Eyes
by SarinSyn
Summary: Imagine what it must have been like: three years alone with a madman, used, abused, and forgotten. Duo and Quatre must live this out and survive, or die trying. rated M for a reason, extra warnings inside
1. Chapter 1: The First Blow

_Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing._**  
**_This story is a concept I came up with a while ago, and recently found. I'm just editing and posting as I go along, so no, this won't stop the updates of "When Memories Die" for anyone who reads that as well.  
WARNING: This story is rated M for good reason. It includes graphic violence, NC sex, slavery, drugs, torture, and a lot of content that you SHOULD NOT READ unless you are of an appropriate age! PLEASE, if you are easily offended by these things, then do not continue!   
Pairings include: (for this chapter) 1x2, possible 6x1, 3x5x4, and UnexNoin.  
THIS STORY IS TWISTED! You have been warned!_  
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**Chapter 1  
The First Blow**

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"Isn't it such a beautiful day out, Trowa?" the small blond wondered, gazing up to the early morning sky. Clouds flittered across the large expanse, flirting with the sun and the slowly rising beams to produce marvelous hues of reds and blues. Stepping behind his beautiful angel, the tall European slipped his arms around his shoulders.

"It's gorgeous," he murmured, but he never looked at the sky. Instead, his eyes stayed glued to the shining blond hair, freshly washed and smelling oh-so-sweet. Quatre could tell that stare never left him, and he cast a sweet smile up to him as he giggled softly, turning in his arms to face him.

"You weren't looking at the sky," accused the Arabian teasingly. Trowa just shrugged, nuzzling their noses together.

"I have better things to look at," he whispered, pulling the body taught against his, burying his face into the soft pillar of his neck. Nipping at the pale flesh, he gave a soft growl rose as the smell of the Arabian intoxicated him. "Mine," he hissed, causing Quatre to once again give a lilting, happy laugh. Joy filled the blond boy as he snuggled into him, tilting his head to the side to give him more access. Wrapping his arms around the lean waist, he melted into the body, memorizing every detail of how perfectly they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Cheek pressed against cheek, they let themselves remain like that, bathed in the warmth of the rising sun through the window. Memories of the war flitted through both of their minds, as if they were connected by more than just their embrace. They recalled the fear of losing one another in battle, and how hard they fought to have this. To be able to have these peaceful, lazy mornings filled with warmth, comfort, and love. To be able to possess such perfection.

The silence was broken when the door to the bedroom opened, Wufei stepping through tiredly and rubbing at his eyes. Still dressed in his Preventers' uniform, his hair was loose and threatening to come out of the ponytail, his eyes drooping and body looking stiff and knotted. Trowa watched him from over one shoulder, brows knotting with worry as Quatre peeked around him from the other side to view the entrance of their other lover.

"Wufei!" he chided, "Why were you out so late? I thought you had come home and gone to sleep in a guest room!" It wasn't uncommon to find the dragon alone and unconscious, having wandered in late and not wanting to disturb the other two, or just needing his space. Dashing out from Trowa's arms, he ran to Wufei worriedly, cupping his face with one hand, the other stroking back the loose locks of black hair.

"I know," the Chinese boy replied, nuzzling the touch and pulling him close. Quatre sighed and opened his mouth to talk.

"Well?" Trowa broke in before Quatre could. "You know he won't give up till he finds out where you were, who you were with, if you're injured, have you eaten, if so, what and how long ago, and how long it's been since you've slept." Wufei began laughing, Trowa smiling as he teased the small boy who turned to poke an indignant tongue out at the acrobat. Walking around, Trowa slid his arms over Wufei's shoulders, his long limbs able to encompass both of his precious lovers.

"I was at the Preventers' headquarters because I found a break in a case and needed to research it before I lost the lead. I was with Zechs and Noin, all of us slaving over the documents, per usual. I'm not injured, besides a few paper cuts, but those won't kill me if blowing myself up hasn't yet, I haven't eaten since I woke up but I've drank tea and orange juice, and I haven't slept since I woke up yesterday," Wufei said in a matter-of-fact tone, staring down to their smaller lover to see his expression. Quatre's mouth opened as he searched for another question to ask, but it closed again. Opened, closed. Casting a glare at Trowa, he realized he had been pinned just right. Except for one question….

"What was the lead for the case?" Quatre wondered, stroking a finger down his chest. Wufei shuddered at the gentle touch, letting his legs give out, knowing that Trowa would support him. It felt so good to be home, thoroughly sandwiched between the two men he loved more than he had ever thought possible. A small smile traced his lips as the tension seeped out of his shoulders. Without realizing what he was doing, he lightly nuzzled the strong arms of Trowa, his hands caressing Quatre's lower back.

"On a drug and slave cartel," he replied, stifling a yawn. "I think we can get some of the major players, but we have to move out tonight. I came back to take a shower and catch two, three hours of sleep, and then we all have to go to headquarters to get briefed and then prepare. We have a mission." Trowa and Quatre looked at each other, worried about the dragon's health, but before they could voice their concerns, Wufei broke in with something else. "Except for you and Duo," he stated, looking to the blond.

Quatre's eyes went wide when he realized what he said was directed to him. Pulling away huffily, he glared at him with a mix of confusion and insult, wondering why they would exclude him and the braided wonder from any mission. Quatre was the best at tactical maneuvers that they had, and more than once had saved the team's collective ass by bailing them out of sticky situations. And Duo, despite his seeming carelessness, was the best sharpshooter and pilot they had!

"Why?" Quatre demanded, chin raising a bit, showing the attitude, strength, and stubbornness of the entire Winner family line. Wufei slumped. He had seen this coming from the moment they made the decision.

"Because," Wufei said tiredly. "You match the profiles of those who have been taken and killed. If they get even a glimpse at you, you two will be targets. We can't protect you if they attack." His voice was pleading, filled with fear at the thought of his lover being killed…or worse. The organization they were up against was infamous for its slave trade, and he couldn't bare the thought of his lover being tortured the way the other victims were. Swallowing hard, he lifted nervous black eyes to the blond, begging with his gaze for Quatre just to stay home. He had such a bad feeling about this mission, and he didn't want Quatre's pride to get in the way of the boys own intuition.

"You know Duo and I won't settle for this," the blond explained. "You either take us with, or we go on our own, and you know we'll do it." Quatre crossed his arms over his chest, confirming what Wufei feared. There was the pride. Grinding his teeth, both he and Trowa knew there was no way to deter the two. They were going to go, whether anyone else liked it or not. At least if they went with them, they'd be able to keep their eyes on the two.

"Be careful," Wufei whispered, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him back into his embrace. Leaning forward, he brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. "I just don't want to lose you." Quatre smiled, snuggling underneath his chin and purring contentedly.

"I have faith in you, Fei. Faith in you and Trowa…even Heero and Duo. If anything happens, I know you'll come for me," he said, giving him another sweet kiss. Trowa's hand rested on the blonde's shoulder, stroking down his arm, voice soft as he spoke.

"We'll always com for you angel. Always."

_**oOoOo**_

"Quatre online. Communications working?"

"Check."

"Wufei online. Communications working?"

"Check."

"Trowa online. Communications working?"

"Check."

"Zechs online. Communications working?"

"Check."

"Heero online. Communications working?"

"Check."

"Duo, god of death, aroused and ready. Can you hear me now?"

Each pilot blinked as they heard Duo's voice, Quatre suppressing a giggle. Leave it to Duo to break the tension they felt as they slid into their space suits and jets, running communication checks. It took a moment but ground control finally shook their shock.

"Check. Opening hanger doors. All personnel prepare for vacuum."

"Well," Duo said, the smile clear in his voice as he glanced to the others through his jets windows. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm excited. I've got a personal score to settle with these bastards," he laughed. Quatre glanced over to him, his own stomach knotting nervously as he studied the others in the confines of the Preventers orbital base. They were all lined up in the hanger in three sets of two, all ready to head out in their uniformed pattern. Something in him told him that perhaps…perhaps Wufei had been right.

"And what is that?" Heero asked.

"These are the ones in charge of the L2 drug trade…you don't think we know each other?" Duo replied.

Those words caused Wufei to feel sick as he released a shaky breath. He shouldn't have let those two come out here. He had a horrible dream from Meiran, begging him to not let them go. But, being the idiot he was, he didn't acknowledge it. He tried to shrug it off…after all, Duo and Quatre were two of their best fighters. Even if they were captured….

His thoughts were interrupted when the hangar door slid open, Duo and Heero's jets lurching out into the void of space. Wufei wasn't able to let his mind trail any longer, he and Zechs following out mere seconds behind, pressing hard on the speed to catch up, followed by Quatre and Trowa. The six pilots went into formation, allowing their emotions to shut down and their soldier to come out as they had been trained to do. In the darkness of space, Earth standing between them and the sun, Duo let violet orbs cast over to Heero's plain. Suddenly, he had the most irrational surge of fear that he would never see those cobalt eyes again…He knew he was being stupid, but still…

Each pilot centered their concentration on the mission, knowing they couldn't screw up for danger of getting themselves killed or injured. Or worse—captured. The organization they were attacking this day was something that called itself "God", a group that sold drugs and slaves, as well as ran the largest prostitution ring that extended out from all the colonies to nearly every region on Earth. And it was well known that many of the God clients went to those prostitutes for sex, knowing that with those who they bought, they could literally do anything wanted. Even kill them. For a price.

Not having been able to get too much information, they did know that the head of the operation, a man who called himself "Master", was at the base they were going to. A small colony which the organization had bought a few years back was now home to their main operations, and it was their mission to go and blow it up. If the Master was in there, they had to make sure he was dead. Trowa gripped his controls a bit tighter, all of them flying in perfect unison and perfect silence.

"Target in view," came Heero's emotionless voice. "Prepare to engage." Each pilot then began typing in codes, guns coming out into view as the missiles prepared themselves to launch. They unlocked their safety on the triggers, and each readied themselves for a fight.

"We've been spotted. 12 fighter jets emerging from enemy base," came Zechs' voice over the communications link. Quatre had the irrational urge to whimper. He was suddenly terrified, a feeling of panic setting into his soul like something he had never experienced before. But he forced it away, trying so hard not to let his emotions get in the way of what he was doing. Though it was impossible—the fear still hovered in the back of his mind like a ghost with unfinished business.

The silence of space hovered around them, the only sound a light bit of static from the headphones. They made their way closer as the enemy planes came in, progressing at minimum speed as if assessing their odds. Zechs' gnawed his lip, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. Everything was quiet, the white haired man realized. Quiet and calm…too much so, in fact. Rolling his eyes at himself, he forced aside his thoughts. Trieze would have laughed at him, if he were alive, reminding him to take weapons into battle, not his symbolic, poetic mind. Still, he felt a chill as everything seemed to move in slow motion, both sides at a stand still as they stared down.

Duo glanced over to his comrades before giving out an annoyed huff, his trademark grin pulling the corners of his lips. Why was everyone sitting around like that? Deciding that he had waited long enough for this moment, he gave out a whoop which caught the other's attention, making them jump.

"Come on! What're we waiting for!" he suddenly cried out. "Let's get this Shindig started! WOO!" The yell seemed to spur them into action, the six breaking formation as Duo, self-proclaimed Shinigami, god of Death, went straight for three of them. As if all triggered by some sort of invisible button that made toys on display move around, every fighter began the intricate dance of a battle, avoiding bullets of their enemy while trying to shoot them down.

And the enemy wasn't so hard to defeat. For the Gundam Boys, as well as Zechs, had all been raised and trained in war, whereas these were just mercenaries and drug addicts, better trained in ground combat than engaging in space. As Wufei took place to shoot his missile at the base, Quatre saw something deploying from the backside of the station. Moving in to view better, he felt his eyes go wide and his mouth drop. People. Dressed in red space suits, they swarmed out like fire ants, dispersing and moving invisibly off into the darkness. Confusion overwhelmed him as he saw the small forms pouring out…about fifteen of them, maybe more. At first he couldn't understand, but his gut screamed the answer.

"A trap," Quatre rasped, barely able to find his breath. Panic was clear in his tone, the usually calm pilot overcome with the agonizing realization that Wufei was right. They shouldn't have come here…. While the others were distracted with the battle, there were people—most likely _soldiers_ deploying from the other end. And he watched in horror as they seemed to make there way towards the battle. Men dressed in the most recent technology of space suits, their propeller packs most likely run by clear flame. They were nearly invisible as they moved, making Quatre scrunch his eyes to see.

"What do you mean?" Trowa demanded, feeling his own throat clench, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. Wufei shot off the missile, and Duo watched as best he could, trying to keep the enemies gunfire off of the Chinese pilot as he worked to decimate the base. The twisting stream of fire made its way to the metal hunk orbiting the planet, heading closer and closer as the red people progressed, unnoticed by all but Quatre, more towards the jets.

The missile was knocked off course, exploding in midair when another made contact with it from the side.

"Shit, you guys!" Duo suddenly yelled, noticing as more spacecrafts approached. Instead of the twelve they had been fighting, they now seemed to be facing off with forty. Not good odds, even for them. "I think we stand about as much of a chance as a seagull against the Noventa ray," he stated in surprise. He paused a moment, before laughing almost maniacally. "But fuck it…this seagull's got guns!"

"This is Preventer Wind requesting back up," Zechs said calmly into his calm, twisting his way through the air as he continued the fight, knocking out four easily.

"Back up will be there in ten minutes," the operator said. Duo felt a grin slide onto his face, watching as they lined up before them in perfect battle formation like cattle to be slaughtered. Excitement ignited in his veins. Just one chance to kill them…one chance to kill the men who had blown up his orphanage and taken his innocence.

"THIS IS FOR SOLO!" he suddenly screamed, heat pouring through him as all the pain of his past overflowed. Without a second though, he launched into the mass, firing violently. "DIE!" Each bullet hit with the shocking precision that seemed to only prove the title of Death befitting. But even more amazing, each shot fired at him he seemed to dodge with ease, flying through and around, giving the bastards a run for their money. And, as he had always done when he was with his beloved Gundam (may she rest in peace) Deathscythe, his lightening reflexes allowed him to get away from every shot and trap, only one or two of each round fired at him slightly nicking the machine he was in.

Quatre didn't give himself time to feel surprised over Duo's outburst of emotions, instead pushing his jet down, dodging underneath the new gathered army. Turning himself nose up to their exposed underbellies, he let out a barrage of bullets, hitting at least five as the others dispersed. Explosions filled the vacuum of space, and the men in the red suits were forgotten by the Arabian as he moved to take down the ones on Duo's tail.

Unlike the others who were being chased, Trowa, in his ever classic fashion, was the one to be chasing. His jet, loaded with more ammunition in all directions than every pilot had together, shot off at random moments whenever one got too close. Imagine the surprise when he got one flying underneath him, or didn't even have to maneuver to take out the ones behind him. It didn't stop them from trying to get him though, even as he continued to chase a few around like a twisted game Russian roulette meets tag.

Wufei was weaving his way through his opponents, blowing up the ones he could as he went, ignoring the shaking whenever something hit his plain, knowing it was just a matter of time before he too was struck. He was prepared to die, as he was every time he fought. But, as he had learned years ago from fighting with the others, it's not how you die that counts, but how many people you take with you. With that in mind, his determination grew. If he died, he was taking at least twelve. It was his lucky number.

Heero and Zechs had teamed up, their jets dancing around each other, dropping down in what looked almost like a beautiful, rehearsed dance, taking out those got too close or who were on the each other's tail. Both of them seemed entirely focused on the battle, though Zechs showed a bit more emotion, crying out in anger every now and then when one of them shot too close or clipped a wing. Heero, on the other hand, could only be heard giving his trademark "Hn", or creepy laugh that he was prone too when fighting.

Finally achieving the impossible and clearing off most of Duo's attackers, Quatre himself realized he had his own problems. Copying his own move from earlier, one of the enemies was underneath him, nose pointing up to the exposed underside. A shot blasted up and into the underbelly of the machine, ripping through the bottom and tearing into the cabin.

For one split second, Quatre felt the metal splitting below him. Scrambling, he tried to break the glass dome, hitting it hard with his shoulder as he tried to press the emergency escape. Nothing worked, so he instead hooked his hands under it and forced it open as much as he could, sliding his body out partially before yelling to the others.

"I've been hit!" he yelled. His friends glanced over, Trowa immediately going to cover his lover to try and stop the attacker. But there was no one around the small blonde's machine, and suddenly, he knew why.

The jet exploded in a fiery blast, shrapnel and electric fire from the controls spreading out in a large plume of blaze, the bright light blinding him for a moment before he could see and try to concentrate on where his lover could be. But there was nothing. Even the jet was decimated, the only remains burning hunks of metal floating blankly through space. Tears stung his eyes as he searched desperately for anything from his lover. A sign of his suit, his body…something….


	2. Chapter 2: Loss

_AN: Please read previous chapters warnings. Future warnings will appear here in this pretty little italic font. And then, I shall say "Bwahahahaha, warnage" and stuff. Oh, and I know this came out early, but I just want to get a roll on this. Thanks for reading!_**  
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**Chapter 2  
Loss**

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Anger and hate welled up in him as the cold realization flooded Trowa's mind. Quatre…Quatre was dead. His angel was dead. Shaking, he turned around, jaw clenching as the need for revenge made his vision turn red. A cruel, anguished scream broke forth from his lips as he went after those responsible.

Wufei was in shock, his body numb and his movements becoming mechanical. Quatre…he had seen the blast, knew what had happened, but he knew he had to find him. He had to! Making an attempt to go over towards the wreckage, he was blocked off by three jets swooping in front of him, forcing him to veer away. Growling angrily, he easily laid waist to them. Another attempt and they did the same, as if trying to keep him back from it. Wufei was puzzled, but just fired at the barricade, trying to break through it and go towards his lover.

Duo's head snapped to the side, immediately turning his jet from his chase of one of the others, watching as the fire filled the dark space and illuminated his cockpit, a shaky breath coming out of his mouth as tears formed in violet eyes.

"Q-man…Quatre…come in, Quatre, come in. Tell me you got out, Q-man. Come on, I know you got out. You're immortal, man, remember? You can't die," Duo pleaded, the pain in his voice wrenching on the others. He sat, motionless for many seconds…a sitting duck, waiting to be killed.

"Duo!" Trowa yelled angrily. "Snap out of it! If we want any hope of finding him if he _is_ still alive, then we have to stay alive ourselves!" That statement hurt him to say, but Trowa knew it was right. His own words caused the malicious wound to dig deeper, yet he couldn't stop fighting. They had to get out of this and get back to base so they could perform the recon and find his angel.

Duo forced himself out of the shock, lining up to take aim at the base, setting the missile to hit it. At that moment, he wanted revenge more than he wanted his next breath. Fingers shaking under the gloves, he pulled the triggers with all the strength he could muster, actually cracking the heavy plastic in his grip. Both missiles flew out with scream, as if echoing his own agony for the loss, the red tail of flame behind them looking like tears of blood. The American flipped himself around, not bothering to watch if the weapons made contact or not.

Taking aim to get another of the fighters, Duo saw something in his peripheral vision, and he glanced over to see what it was. His eyes went wide. How did he not notice? Two bullets impacted with his side as Duo pulled up as hard as he could, trying to lessen the damage as the enemy continued to fire. How in the hell did he let them get so close?

The weapons collided with his tail, sending him spinning for a moment before he finally righted himself. Trying to steer, he swallowed hard when he realized the ship had been rendered immobile. His steering mechanisms had been destroyed…he was going to die. Slowly, he closed his hands around the handles, fingers touching the triggers again, and with a small intake of breath, he began to defend himself, moving around as best he could, taking out as many as he could reach with his limited capabilities. Still more came from behind, and he knew he couldn't turn in time to get them.

"Heero…I love you," Duo whispered, causing the Japanese pilot to turn towards him, eyes going wide. "My husband…my everything. I love you." Then, they made contact, the strike shooting a tail of fire through the metal, splintering his craft. It was too far off to see the details inside the cockpit, but they saw the orange and white electric flame sizzle over the ship as the communications sizzled out.

"Duo!" Heero cried. "Damn it, baka! Ai shiteru…" he knew this could well be his last chance to say it, knowing it was too late to do anything else for him. The Perfect Soldier took over then, moving in to take down the others, forcing himself to look away as another explosion filled the dark sky. A sound so loud vibrated their crafts before quickly being swallowed up by the vacuum of space. The light sizzled out, as did the last remnant of his beloved Duo. The now four pilots found themselves fighting even more violently than before, tears streaming down their faces. They lost two. How could they lose anymore?

How they achieved it, they didn't know. But somehow, two of the missiles hit the base right as back-up came. The arriving allies helped to clear out the rest of the insurgents and complete the mission goal of getting rid of the colony. But the pilots didn't care anymore. They just wanted revenge. They wanted justice for their fallen lovers…the two most innocent of them all….

_**oOoOo**_

"We have to search for them!" Wufei cried, black eyes fogged with grief as he shakily yelled at the others. Trowa's head was bowed, tears pouring freely down his cheeks, Heero finding himself somehow leaning against Zechs as he sobbed quietly, whispering Duo's name over and over. Noin and Une stood, watching the entire group, both attempting to control their own sorrow, threatening to send the two females into mourning with the others over their fallen friends.

"You saw it," Trowa whispered, the pain clear in his voice. He was so close to breaking, teetering on the edge that he felt as if one tap could push him over for good. And down he would fall, shattering into a million pieces as he had so many times before. But there would be no Quatre there to hold him, to save him from his dreams. To make him feel needed and loved. There was no shining smile or blond mess of hair, no more of that fragrance of his skin and shampoo that always mingled and smelled like home. No more. No more…

"I know I saw it," Wufei said, his throat constricting. "But I also remember Quatre's face this morning when we told him we'd always go after him. What if he made it out? What if Duo somehow survived?" he demanded violently. "I know them…they're indestructible! And I refuse to believe that one hit, after all they've taken, killed them!" The others stayed quiet, Trowa slowly looking up a moment before he stood, moving with quick strides to catch his lover in his arms, holding him in a desperate, tight embrace.

"I know…we will go look, love," he swore, and Wufei nodded his head, burying it into his chest and taking slow breaths to try and steady himself. Hooking a finger under his chin, Trowa forced his gaze up, eyes staring deeply into his. "Fei," he whispered, so quiet only the dragon could hear. "Just remember…it's okay to break down. I can be your strength." Wufei looked up to, studying those deep green eyes and damp lashes a moment before he whispered back just as quietly.

"The same goes for you, Trowa." Then, he slipped from his arms and looked to the others, presence commanding. "Get ready," he snapped. "We're going out to look for anything. Confirmation of life, death, or other. Now move!" Zechs and Heero pulled away, Une relinquishing control of the team to the black haired youth as she paged for more agents to come to aid in the recon.

_**oOoOo**_

Duo heard Heero's words echoing in his head as the communications unit was severed in the ship. A soft smile traced his lips as he released the triggers, sitting back in his chair and staring up to the sky. Each star looked so beautiful, and he wished he could have had time to say Hail Mary's, but even as he tried to recall all the words, there was only one prayer that came to mind.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…" He closed his eyes, feeling the sickening vibrations as the ship began to rip apart, waiting for the burning sensation that would come with the explosion.

A loud crash sounded, causing him to wince as the glass from overhead rained down upon him. Looking up, feeling a slight twinge of hope, he saw a red figure hovering above the craft. Metal flashed and a blade cut through the seatbelts before strong hands pried him from the seat. Feet pressed against the hulk, the stranger used the leverage to press off, reaching back to activate a jetpack of some sort. What looked like heat waves emerged from the device, and the stranger almost lost his grip on Duo as they were jerked forward at a shocking speed.

Black mask turning down to him, Duo tried hard to see through the face covering to find any details. Something to show who it was. But instead of a face, he was greeted with the reflection of his machine exploding behind them, quickly growing in size even as the man whisked him away from the battle…and the opposite direction of the Preventers base. Apprehension hit him hard right as the weight of the blast impacted with them, sending the two head over heels. They lost their hold of each other, and Duo attempted to use the opportunity to fling himself away, hoping to hide somewhere amongst the shards until recon was dispatched after the battle. But the man would have none of it.

Grabbing Duo again, this time more forcefully, he continued to drag him farther from the fight and his friends, towards the area of the Earth where dawn was just beginning to peak. Not feeling too good about this whole situation, nor liking being dragged around like a rag doll, he attempted to hit the man, but with barely any leverage there was not nearly enough force to do much good. Instead, seeing the swing coming, the strange person in red snagged his wrist, pulling him back against him and pinning his arms.

"_Heero!_" he screamed, praying that somehow his helmet com worked. But the noise died inside of the mask, not even static emerging through to give him any hope. Jerking his body, he began to squirm and struggle with all his might, working vehemently to try to wrench himself free from the vise like hold. Quickly becoming frustrated, the red form pulled back only enough to turn him around and deliver a killer blow to his stomach, sending him reeling. Having used the jetpack to provide the force needed, Duo was left breathless, bile rising to his throat at the intensity of it. Head swimming, he felt his vision slowly fade to black

When he came to coherency only moments later, suddenly realized…he couldn't breathe. Behind him, the stranger had unscrewed his oxygen pack. Fear gripped the American, and he began struggling again, but to no avail. He was still too weak from the blow, and he feared might have caused internal bleeding. Groaning at the pain, he felt air begin to go through his suit again, which he gasped gratefully, body slumping as his heart raced. Rough hands grabbed him and started moving again, but this time, Duo didn't struggle. He couldn't. A sweet smell was permeating his senses, causing his vision to slowly go black. No matter how hard he fought to keep his mind alert and eyes open, it was a dying battle. And soon, he was passed out, left in the helpless in the hands of his abductor.

Pulling the limp body up tight to him, the man gave a soft groan at the feel of the lithe form through fabric. He didn't need to imagine the American nude…after all, the pictures they had taken had provided enough to decide the risk of taking him was worth the gain. Smiling to himself, he made his way across the threshold of day and night, black mask preventing the sun from hurting his eyes. He paused a moment to admire the Earth as the floated there above the atmosphere, realizing how easy it would be to just drop this supposed badass boy down and let him become nothing more than falling, burning star. He couldn't help but laugh at the image and the odd joy it produced. He loved seeing those with so much pride reduced to what they were—nothing. Sighing at the beauty of the cotton candy clouds and mental images of burning bodies, he reluctantly started going again, heading off towards his destination.

Within ten minutes, they made it to what appeared to be a regular private plain, coming up close to it and sliding along the bottom. The man pressed something in his hand, waiting for the answer.

"Authorization code?" came the cold, cruel male voice that held the dreams and addictions of so many people in his hand. The man shuddered as he always did when Master used that tone on him.

"86293015, red unit," the man responded. There was nothing for long moments, and as the he waited impatiently, he was tempted to try and resend it. But before he could, the bottom finally cracked and the two pieces of the underside slid up, allowing entrance. A small smirk formed on his lips, and he flew inside, levitating a foot above the ground until the bottom closed again and the effects of false gravity hit him like a hammer. Shutting off the pack, he fell to the ground with his little Gundam Toy, before standing him up and dragging out of the entrance chamber and into the main room.

The Master looked up from the distraction of the small boy in his lap, eyebrows quirked as he saw what Ky dragged behind him. Pulling off his own red mask, Ky gasped at the sweet, fresh air. His own oxygen had been running out. Going to his knees, he bowed his head submissively before dragging forward Duo, carefully undoing his helmet, sitting him up to pull it off. The last of the drug filtered into the air, diluting till it had no effect, and the American stirred, whimpering softly as he was lowered onto the man's chest. Un-tucking his braid from the bobby pins, he let it fall to the ground, looking up just in time to catch the Master smirk.

"He's as beautiful as the pictures said he was," the Master whispered. "He'll be a good relief for my guards…but we'll make great money off of him. I trust you'll be able to break him well, Ky?" Master mumbled, eyes flashing with desire as he thought of all the different ways that could be achieved. Ky nodded, flattered that the Master felt him befitting enough to let him have this boy as his slave. Looking up to him, his own dark brown eyes studied the Master. Deep emerald orbs flickered with a cold fire that stood in contrast to the gentle features of a boyish face. But Ky knew all too well the cruelty the innocent seeming man was capable of. Dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, his lithe, whipcord body slung back across the cushions of the limousine style seats. Standing at a mere 5'7, the man, while physically not appearing threatening, always had a crackle to the air about him. The way he carried himself demanded respect and fear, and it was clear that he would settle for nothing less.

"He's very spirited, but I think we'll be able to tame him," Ky replied, reaching down to remove the band that held Duo's braid in place. Beginning to undo the tangles, he tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. "Before the guards take him, shall I clean him up? Fix the hair and get the sweat off of him?" The Master pondered for a moment, stroking the hair of the boy in his lap, before he nodded his approval of the idea.

"Yes," he said. A soft moan emerged from pale lips, making his head jerk back down to the unconscious boy as he whimpered, his head turning into Master's thigh as he hissed in pain. A slight smile lighted the Master's features as he gazed down to the prize that was there. Still knocked out cold, head cradled on his legs, was the stunningly beautiful Quatre Ruberba Winner. Blood trickled from the boy's forehead and bruises were scattered across his torso. Already, the Master had him stripped and bare, the only thing covering him from site a soft blanket he had slung over his hips. Yes, the Master thought, stroking his head and face. He had wanted the boy, and he had gotten him. Just like always…nothing he wanted ever stayed out of his reach for long. Looking over to where Ky was kneeling on the floor, he continued the stroking of his new pet as he spoke.

"Clean up the slut once we land. His name won't be used from now on. And this one…" he looked down to Quatre again, a smile forming on his lips as his cheeks flushed in an almost innocently excited expression. "This one is staying with me when we land. He's mine." Ky nodded, ready for his duties that Master had bestowed upon him.

The Master was surprised at how well the plan had worked. The "anonymous tip" about the "main base", the planning with his moles in the Preventers, mixed in with a little bit of luck and they had the two boys right where they wanted him. The Base wasn't a big loss. Only filled with old equipment and the troops that were deployed from it. The rest inside were whores or dead bodies that they needed to dispose of, and the little agent's had done a wonderful job of cleaning up their mess for them.

Yes, the trap had worked out great. And now, in his possession, he had an Angel. And soon, his angel would be broken and his. Completely.


	3. Chapter 3: His New Life

_Warning! This chapter contains torture, NC sex, slavery, and violence. Do not read if this offends you._**  
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**Chapter 3  
His New Life**

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Wufei felt defeated as he searched amongst the remains of the battle, seeking each body he found for Quatre's face. Praying like he never had before, he whispered repeatedly his wishes to the heavens for him to still be alive. Or if not, then to at least let them find something of him to bury. Give him more than the fates had given him with Meiran. Heart pounding, he felt the all too familiar sting of emotion in his eyes, pushing from body to body, wreckage to wreckage, in the black void of space, but to no avail.

"Anyone have anything?" he directed into his com, voice forcibly steady. One by one, the four pilots, Hilde, Noin, and Une replied with a negative. How could there be nothing left?

Heero felt exhausted. Hours had already passed, and he was sure they had gone through the mass six times over. The Japanese man felt empty and tired, the futile hunt serving to pour salt into the open wound his mind hadn't fully registered even existed yet. He needed to get out of there. Pushing himself off, not bothering to inform the others, he headed wordlessly back to the scavenger ship, emotions still numb. The entirety of the situation and its meaning had yet to set in. It all seemed so surreal…and by the time he made it to the entry chamber and the gravity and pressure of the regular world was equaled out with his suit, he convinced himself that his lover and his blond friend would be sitting inside, waiting safely for him and laughing to each other. Hope filled him…that was it. This was a bad dream…

Dazed, he opened the door...and was greeted with silence. Swallowing hard, he felt a sudden wave of muted sorrow wash through him, still refusing to admit it to himself that his husband was gone.

Pulling off his suit, he tossed it carelessly aside, not even bother to note where it landed as he stumbled aimlessly away. Gone…Duo was gone…. Cobalt blue eyes began to fog over and he rubbed weakly at them. He was surprised when it pulled away to find it damp, and idly he touched at his cheeks, feeling the swiftly flowing tears he didn't even realize had formed.

"I need to get out of here," he murmured to himself. He had no idea to where, all he knew was that he just needed to be alone. His legs moved automatically, his motions mechanical as he sniffled, each step causing him to break down a little more as his mind continued to repeat the horrifying truth which became truer with each passing moment.

Gone…Duo was gone…Walking down the hallway, he pushed himself into the small bathroom and shut the door behind with a definitive "click", checking to make sure it had locked. For a moment, he leaned against the heavy metal barricade and just stared at the handle, mind swirling with a million things that he couldn't grasp onto. Later, a therapist would tell him he was in a state of shock, but at that moment, all he knew was that he hurt. Slowly, not even realizing his own movements, he slid down the door with an agonized whine. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't hold himself up anymore.

"Duo," he whispered as knees made hard contact with the ground. Shaking limbs wrapped around himself, and he felt a biting sensation over his forearms. The cross…that was right. Duo always gave it to him to hold when he went on a mission. Stifling a sob as best he could, he lifted it off of his neck and held it tightly in his grip, thumb trailing over the engraved signature in the back of the nun his lover had adored so. The metal felt cold and lonely, as if it even somehow knew that it's owner would no longer wear it again…

Pain suddenly tore through his stomach—both emotional and physical—and he found himself dropped forward, head on the tile floor and crying out with a rough, tear filled voice. How could this have happened? How? Every instant of the battle replayed through his head as understanding dawned on him, leaving him horrified. Why couldn't this be a dream? How could he have died? Duo…dead…. Where had his body gone? Had it been such a bad explosion that he was just pieces of flesh and fabric floating through space? The image made his stomach churn, his mind graphically envisioning the jet exploding and shoving his lover forward through the shattering glass as shrapnel ripped through him, cutting him to shreds. Before he knew it, he was hunched over the toilet, spilling the contents of his meal into the porcelain bowl.

An eternity seemed to pass, reducing him to hiccoughing sobs, cheek resting on the seat as he continued to dry heave. Shakily, he grabbed a tissue to rub at his lips, throwing that in and flushing, still clinging to the cross as his body continued to be wracked by violent cries. Oddly enough, he could smell Duo on the chain. That certain spice cologne he always wore that made Heero either calm or mad with lust depending on their mood. It was hard to realize, hard to even imagine, that he would never see his Duo again. Never hold him. Never touch him. Never hear his laugh or teasing voice. Feel his hair or lips on his neck. Never again feel the weight of his body against his…

What Heero thought was impossible happened. Death was dead. Another hard wave of grief crashed inside of him, and he shattered even more, the small pieces of himself turning to dust, unable to ever be repaired. Curling up into a fetal position, he lost himself in his emotions, feeling his mind slip away. Feeling everything he had lived for wither and die, and him along with it.

_**oOoOo**_

Wufei had finally been dragged back in, tears streaming down his cheeks, unable to accept what had happened.

"He's not dead," he murmured repeatedly. He should have listened to Meiran! But why, then, didn't he feel the presence of Quatre? Why couldn't he feel him as he had felt Meiran, comforting him? Pacing back and forth as the others stripped out of their recon suits, the red-eyed crew watched him as burned a path in the metal where he walked. Back and forth, back and forth, stripped down to the jeans and tank top he had worn underneath. Back and forth, back and forth… Trowa, finally having enough, snagged his wrist with long fingers and pulled him back against him forcefully in an attempt to stop the incessant movement before he drove them all mad.

Wufei struggled from his hold, crying harder, letting himself get buried in his denial.

"He's alive! He's not dead!" he yelled. Zechs covered his face to hide his own grief, Hilde grabbing onto his arm for support. Une took Noin's hand, slowly leading her out so the two females could mourn in private. Seeing them leave, Wufei grew desperate, wanting to go back out and not give up till they found a hint. "We can't end this yet!" he pleaded. "Trowa, we can't!" Struggling harder, he planted his feet in the ground and tried to pull away, before Trowa spun him around and delivered a hard smack across his face that sent him stumbling. Catching him before he could fall, the European immediately pulled him back into his arms, holding him tight.

"Wufei…you're hysterical. You're going to drive yourself crazy and take us with you!" Trowa whispered, and Wufei knew it was true. Burying his face into his shoulder, he let his emotions out, the liquid sin falling freely from his eyes again. Trowa picked him up, gently carrying him out of the room to find a more appropriate place.

Zechs looked down to the violet haired girl who slowly pulled away from him, rubbing at her eyes. Lightly brushing his thumb across the wet trails down her face, he ushered her to look up to him.

"Don't be sad, little one. I know he was your best friend, but you know he only would have wanted you to smile," he whispered, his own throat catching at the statement. "It's all he ever tried to make you do, no?" Slowly, she nodded, pulling away and swiping at damp lashes with her forearm.

"I'm gonna go check up on Noin and them," she whispered, sniffling meekly. Zechs just nodded as she made her exit, finally able to turn his attention on what had been bothering him. Heero's whereabouts.

Rummaging through the discarded suits, he was relieved to find that all were there and accounted for, including Heero's. The ex pilot of Wing probably came in earlier than the others. Worry filtered through him as he stood. In no way, shape, or form did he trust the boy by himself at the moment, and feared that he may do the worst. After all, this was the same person who seemed to have more suicidal tendencies than an angsty teen at a razor blade convention. He needed to find him.

With that thought in mind, he stood, assessing the situation. There were three possible areas he could have gone—one led into the small eating room on the salvage ship, where one cook always resided. The other led to the flight room, where the others most likely made their retreat, and the last down a small hallway to the janitor's closet and the one person bathroom. It was pretty easy to deduct where he was after that, knowing that if Heero were to show any emotions, it would be in a place no one else would be.

Into the small alcove he went, listening closely for any noise, pausing before the bathroom door and hesitantly testing the handle. Locked. He pushed his ear against the metal and could hear the shaky sound of sobbing, his own heart breaking. Never had he known the man to cry.

"Heero," he called quietly. "Will you let me in?" As expected, no response was forthcoming. Instead, a small stifled wail could be heard, followed by a low growl. "Heero!" he asked again, but this time, everything went silent.

Frozen, face buried into his knees, Heero sat quiet and motionless, biting the insides of his cheeks bloody in order to prevent even a breath from escaping him, as if hoping Zechs would forget him and go away. "Damn it, Heero! I'm coming in!" Zechs yelled, slamming his fist against the door as panic tinged the white haired mans demeanor. Pulling out the skeleton key, he quickly did away with the lock and entered, scared that the dumb boy would have already done something stupid.

Heero sat, curled up in the corner, crying like a small child and holding the cross tightly to his chest. Seeing this, Zechs forced himself to move slower and calmer, gently closing the door behind and locking it once again. Kneeling down in front of his friend, he kept a respectful distance, but still close enough so he could feel the heat radiating from the grief stricken youth.

"Heero," he whispered, trying to grab his attention. But when the boy's eyes snapped open, it was as if he just then realized Zechs was there. Fire flared in them. Rage at the injustice, mixed in with his pain caused Heero to lash out. Never had he felt a grief this distinct, and he had no clue on how to control it. Launching forward at him, he swung as if to hit him, half wanting him to leave and half just needing some way to work through all of this. Having already guessed that was coming, Zechs just caught his fist, using the leverage to pull him fully from the corner and into his arms, wrapping himself around him protectively. "Heero…I'm not here to hurt you," he swore against the mess of dark chocolate hair. "I'm your friend. I'm here for you." Heero gave a small struggle, not really putting much into it. Hitting his chest weakly a few times, the Japanese boy crumbled in the hold, burying his face into him and taking the strength that was offered.

_**oOoOo**_

Harsh light awoke Quatre, the normal soft feel of his silken pillows under his face and the warm bodies of his lovers replaced by the feel of a hard wood floor with rough carpets that scratched and irritated his skin. Blinking his eyes open, he felt like he could barely lift his weary lids, staring at a metal door that looked to be firmly locked. A soft groan escaped his lips and he let his head loll in the other direction, wincing as a pang of a headache formed in the back of his skull. Where was he? To the other side, he saw three steps that went across the expanse of the room, leading up to a long, raised platform against the wall. The salmon colored flooring looked well used and stained in something that was a frighteningly familiar shade of reddish brown, and he swallowed hard.

_It looks like an old, private party room,_ he thought to himself. In front of him, slightly to the right, he saw a wooden door, ornately carved with a golden handle that led to god-knows-where.

"Where am I…?" he wondered in a scratchily, voice parched and dry. Lips splintered, he ran his tongue over them to lessen the pain as best he could, tasting something sour and salty, a little wet, at the corner of his mouth. His blood ran cold as his heart gave a jump. That was an undeniable taste that he knew well from when he had pleasured both Trowa and Wufei…. Did someone do something to him in his sleep? Is that why his throat felt so sore?

Deciding he needed to find his way out of here, and fast, he forced himself up as quickly as he could into a sitting position. _Oh…bad idea!_ Hissing, pain washed over him and caused his vision to blur a moment. His body ached, muscles screaming as wounds that were haphazardly wrapped ripped back open and caused him to release a gasp. That explosion must have really done a number on him…so why was he alive? Banishing those thoughts and his tears, he grit his teeth. Something wasn't right about this place, and he knew he had to find his way out before Mr. Sleep Molester returned. This was no time for weakness. Shoving his discomfort into the back of his mind, he lifted himself to his feet and looked around.

It was an empty structure, the colored walls a shade of grayish pink and contrasting horrendously with the carpet. Above him, florescent lights shot their artificial glow down upon him, almost blindingly bright. A few air vents were placed on the high up ceilings, but in addition to being screwed in, were padlocked on all four sides despite the less than one square foot opening they gave. To his left, where the raised part of the room was, large red curtains were draped and pulled tight over what he hoped were windows.

Deciding they were his best bet, he made his way to them as best he could, limping slightly at a sharp pain in his ankle. Somehow, he must have sprained it. Pulling aside the drapes, he felt his hopes shatter as he came into contact with thick layers of wood covering up the view outside. Not even the slightest touch of light managed to break through, and he grimaced his annoyance.

"Of course," he mumbled to himself, more for comfort than anything. "The windows can never be open. That would just be easy." Sighing, he came to the conclusion that trying couldn't hurt—at least not figuratively, because he had a feeling it would sure as hell hurt physically. Hooking his hands onto the wood, he began to pull, feeling his aching back strain as he gave out a growl with his effort. Feet planting up against the wall, he put all his weight into it, arms giving harsh spasms. Each individual laceration screamed, and he glanced down to see blood blooming from bandages wrapped around his legs, only to realize…

…he was naked.

Taken aback by that, his grip slipped and he landed hard on his tail bone, giving out a cry as his body fell back. A choked whimper caught in his throat, and he forced himself to roll over onto his knees, hissing as he once again stood. He couldn't give up this easily. Once again, he grabbed on, hooking his bare feet on either side of the window for leverage, pulling against the splintering wood with all his might. A crack sounded, followed by another, hope swelling in him as he watched the nails tug and strain. Then, with a loud "CRACK!" he was sent flying back a good foot, a piece of the wood in his hand as he skidded across the carpet and rolled down the steps. Adrenaline now was pushing aside any other feeling but hope as he stumbled back up the steps to look out into what he hoped would be freedom…

…only to come into contact with bricks.

Someone had filled the windows in with bricks.

His mouth went dry with fear, the futility of his situation beginning to drawn on him. He made his way distraught down the steps, trying hard to soothe himself. Wherever he was, he needed to take in his surroundings and come up with a tactic to get out. First, he tried the metal door, confirming his suspicion that it was locked. It was thick and solid, most likely sound proofed, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing for him, depending on whether or not he got a chance to surprise his captor.

Deciding to explore the last room, he stumbled slightly as he hobbled over, a sting starting to form in his feet. Leaning against the wall, he pulled splinters out from the sensitive flesh that must have gotten lodged during his escape attempt, before once again continuing. His body yelled with every step that he shouldn't be moving, and he knew that in better circumstances, he wouldn't even try. Shoulders felt pulled, if not bordering on dislocation, legs bleeding and lower back cut as well. Bruises marred his chest, and it hurt each time he took a breath. Pressing delicately over the sensitive spot, he felt a sickening shift of a broken rib.

Gratefully, he collapsed against the wooden door, taking a breather.

"Please Allah," he whispered, hand resting on the golden handle. "Let this be an exit…" Pressing down, he once again felt his heart beat fast with hope as he found it unlocked, and he hesitantly made his way in, afraid of seeing another gaudy, barren "cell"…

…only to reveal a paradise.

It reminded him of a rainforest, filled with exotic plants climbing the walls—huge leafy things with fragrant flowers growing tall, some of the petals as large as his hand. They outlined the room, vines wrapping around the entrance to another open door that, from what he could see, looked to be a small toilet room. A large bed of black silks and gauze drapes lay across the large expanse, but what caught his attention was that in the middle of all of this…was a pool. It was like the kind that he had seen in pictures of Mayan temples, a gentle trickling sound letting one know it was constantly running, pouring in new water and drawing out the old. About the size of the average one's he had seen in people's backyards, it was an impressive structure, surrounded by tiled depicting pictorial stories. Moving to get a closer look, he saw what appeared to be a battle between forces of heaven and hell, and a great conquest of demon's over angels. His face paled at one which stood out the largest—a huge painting by the entrance steps which made his stomach churn.

Done in graphic detail, spanning about seven feet in length and two feet wide across the short side of the rectangular pool, was the final scene of the story. Angels were portrayed being tortured, wings being ripped off as they were raped by the demonic armies. Dismembered limbs of the pure creatures lay scattered about in the scene of blood and carnage. Staring in horror, unable to turn his eyes away, he was too entranced by the hedonistic scene that he didn't hear the metal door of his prison slowly open, nor the steps that slowly came up behind him.

"Hello, Angel," came a smooth, soft whisper, seeming to disappear into the air like fairies in the surreal environment of this hellish paradise. Quatre jumped, spinning to find the source, surprised when he met up with deep green eyes almost perfect in shade to Trowa's. Except these eyes were cruel, piercing into his soul and pinning him to the spot, sending a chill of fear down his spine. Dark brown hair, almost the color of Heero's, was tied in a knot at the back of his neck. Black slacks hung well on sharp hips, a white, crisp business shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up. He was slick, dark, and he was tempting…but more than that, he scared Quatre more than all of Oz ever did.

"Who are you?" the Arabian demanded, trying hard to keep the tremor from his voice as his hands moved to cover his nakedness. The man smiled.

"I am Master, and you are my new pet," he explained, stepping closer to the blond. Quatre's eyes went wide, taking a step back in an attempt to make distance between himself and this dominating figure, but the Master was unrepentant.

"Nobody owns me," the blond snapped, rage lighting his blue eyes. The man laughed.

"Oh, but you're wrong Angel. You see…I own you. Mind, body, and soul…you belong to me now." And with that, the man launched at him, sending Quatre reeling back in hopes to escape the attack. Dodging under the arm that swung out to grab him, the petite boy spun around to take off running, energy pounding through his veins and making him forget his injuries long enough to make an attempt to get out. Though, his injuries weren't the only things his panic blinded him too, but the layout of the room as well. Foot slipping on the slick tile, he found himself falling helplessly into the pool before he could even make his first step.

Floundering, he tried to pull himself up, but the man was already behind him in the cold water, pinning his arms to his side with one of his own. The other moved by Quatre's ass, and he could feel as his attacker began to undo his slacks. Choking back a sob, he let out a loud scream, trying hard to pull away, but the hold was vise around him, leaving him to thrash helplessly as the Master quickly pulled himself out from his pants. Never had the blond been raped before. Even through out the wars he had managed to avoid such a frightening experience, and even though thought of it was enough to make his blood run cold.

Master grabbed Quatre's wrists with one large hand, wrenching them back and forcing him forward. Trying to use the leverage against him, he attempted once more to pull away but to no avail. The Master had him back against him seconds, grinding his erection against him hard, causing Quatre to shudder in disgust as he shook his head in denial, body freezing up in a form of comatose panic as the man did it again.

"Please, no," Quatre whispered. The Master only laughed, shoving the Arabian forward more, grabbing onto his hair and shoving his face forward and under the water. Quatre's eyes went wide, his struggles renewing to get away and get back up for air, but that was forgotten as he felt something pressing against his entrance. Kicking, he swung out to try and strike him, but the man just pulled his hair harder and twisted his arms, tugging him up above the water long enough for the boy to gasp a sweet breath of much needed air.

"Stay still or I'll fucking kill you, whore!" the Master snapped, then shoved him back under. This time, when he felt the intrusion, he had no time to pull away. In it went, slamming in dry and hard, ripping through him as he screamed. It was larger than either of his lovers, and hurt beyond belief. Shuddering, the Master began to pound into him violently, making Quatre feel for certain that he was going to rip in half. The lack of air started to get to him, his ears buzzing with the strain as his vision began to darken. A more vicious stroke caused him to scream and inadvertently release the last precious bits of oxygen. His lungs fought violently to get back taking in large amounts of water as they convulsed and tried to breathe. His body tingled with pain of deprivation, his ears filled with the swooshing sound of his own blood. Still, the man continued his relentless assault, not bothering to lift him up, even as the small blonde's struggles lessened, before visibly going unconscious.

He didn't know how long he was out, but when Quatre awoke again, he found himself bent over an odd device that he only realized after some curious observation was a gymnastic horse. Slowly, he looked around, a sharp pang splintering through back of his skull and sending sparks into his eyes. He winced, taking steadying breaths, stomach churning. A dry heave wrenched his body forward, the emptiness in his stomach leaving nothing to come out.

"Nng…ow," he whimpered, lifting his head up as best he could to prevent any more blood from rushing to it. When he finally began to steady himself more, he started to take in his surroundings, squirming against the binds. The room was stone, vaguely reminding him of a medieval dungeon—torture devices and all. A large, X shaped contraption with bands for the arms and legs rested against one wall, surrounded by various shapes and sizes of whips, cuffs, collars, face masks, and various other bondage devices, hanging from hooks and spread out on tables like tools in a shed. A few he recognized from his own experiments. Whips, riding crops, paddles, dildos, vibrators…but what scared him of those the most were the spike lined ones, the sharp protrusions coming in all shapes, lengths, and widths. Swallowing hard, he vaguely registered the way his body trembled from fear and pain, tears welling in his eyes as he only imagined what was going to be done to him. Hissing, he shifted to try to get more comfortable, his gut feeling bruised and ass feeling sore from the earlier rough treatment.

Chains hung from the ceiling that he could barely see, a few piercing guns and various sizes of rings hanging on another wall, flanked by other toys that Quatre's mind had never even imagined existed. He tried to study them more closely, but his neck quickly tired, causing his head to drop forward once again.

"Allah, please," he whispered, "let this end…"

"Oh, but it hasn't even begun, my Angel," came the familiar voice that Quatre had already grown to fear. Body stiffening, his shaking became more violent as he opened his eyes to see the shiny black boots and black clad legs of Master behind him. "Trust me…I won't be done with you for a very, very long time." Had the circumstances been different, the sweet tone would have been comforting, as well as the hand that gently stroked across the edges of a gash on his lower back, which he registered as now being stitched up. Did he receive that in the explosion? Or did this man do it to him while he was out? Just how much had he slept through this time? The sound of metal on metal sounded as the Master set something down, causing the blond to jerk. Pure, unadulterated terror filled the boy to the breaking point. Never before had he been so helpless or exposed as he was now, legs spread out and stretched painfully. So opened to a man who had already raped him, and it now seemed, planned on doing worse as well.

"Please," Quatre whimpered. "Please don't do this…" He was ashamed at his own weakness, but he had the feeling that being strong would it make it worse for him. That resistance would make the pain only come that much worse. If he shut down a bit, didn't try to be strong...if he just went along with things, then maybe he could wait it out until Trowa, Wufei, and the others came for him. It wouldn't be long after all. He knew that, because they promised they would never leave him behind. They had to come and rescue him soon….

"I have to do this, Angel," the Master said softly, almost regretfully, the sound of hard bristles of a brush swirling through liquid against the metal sides of a bowl causing Quatre to cringe. "You are a new slave, and new slaves must be broken. You must be punished for breaking that piece of wood and trying to escape, as well as having such a bad mouth. But it's okay." With that, the Master tapped the edge of the bowl, and Quatre heard small droplets landing on a table. "Soon, you'll know you're nothing more than a slave who has no value to anyone. After all, they abandoned you to me. Nobody is going to come for you, Angel. You're mine to do with as I please." Master chuckled as if amused. "Mine forever…"

Quatre watched from between his legs as the man moved up behind him, feeling the hard edges of a tapered, round brush rubbing over his torn entrance. A bit of cold liquid leaked over his skin from the stiff, plastic bristles, and when it came into contact with the broken flesh, the open wounds stung violently, causing him to cry out. "But first…first we must clean you up. As you can probably tell, this is pure rubbing alcohol. And this…well my angel, you probably know what a round brush is."

"NO!" Quatre suddenly screamed, unable to stop himself anymore as he was overtaken with sobs, the prospect of the pain too much handle. "Someone! Please, help," he pleaded, crying hopelessly.

"We need to shut you up," the master stated calmly, if only slightly annoyed. A steel toed boot hit suddenly between the blonde's legs, the kick smashing into his sensitive balls with a bruising force. Quatre screamed again, mouth opening just enough for a large, rubber ball gag to be shoved between his lips, effectively silencing him as he tied it behind his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed, shaking his head back and forth, trying to beg for him to not hurt him anymore. The gag kept him quiet though. Lips stretched and cracking, the intruding ball forced his tongue back into his throat, giving him a feeling of suffocating as he once again gagged. Satisfied, the Master gave a boyish giggle, shoving the scouring brush covered in alcohol into his new slave, enjoying the symphony of screams from his new slave. Before the night was through, all this would seem like child's play.

"Don't worry," he practically sang, cheerful voice reflecting his happy features. "You'll endure. I'll show just how pain the human body really can endure! After all, pet…we use the electro shock next…"


End file.
